


Six times Aziraphale listened to Queen, and one time he actually liked it

by Cryptand_Bismol



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, Excessive use of Queen Songs, Five times but actually six because I'm extra, Fluff, Freddie Mercury but only in spirit, Humor, Idiots in Love, Multi, Queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 19:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptand_Bismol/pseuds/Cryptand_Bismol
Summary: Ever since the Not-pocalypse Aziraphale had spent more and more time in the Bentley, and more and more time listening to Queen.Or, a romance through the medium of Queen songs





	1. One: Ride the Wild Wind

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Aziraphale only said ‘Good Lord’ like once but it is so Him that I may have... used it many, many times?
> 
> The opinions against Queen are purely Aziraphale’s own and they actually jam. 
> 
> Songs in order;  
Ride the Wild Wind - Body Language - We Will Rock You - Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy - Don’t Stop Me Now - Get Down Make Love - Seaside Rendezvous 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Aziraphale looked at the radio with disdain, tutting as Crowley started to tap the rhythm out on the steering wheel, “I think this is worse than the one about Galileo.” 

“Gali- You mean Bohemian Rhapsody?” Crowley said exasperatedly, “And what do you mean worse? This is a classic Roger Taylor tune,” he pressed a button to start the song over, “‘_Get your head down baby, we're gonna ride tonight, your angel eyes are shining bright’_” he sang, relishing in the angel’s blush, “Now, that’s a man knows what it means to appreciate a good car.”

“He’s just saying ‘Wild Wind’ over and over again, it’s hardly lyrical genius.”

_‘I wanna take your hand, lead you from this place, gonna leave it all behind, check out of this rat race’_

“You just don’t get it, Angel,” he said as they took a particularly sharp turn that had the angel clinging to the door, “Y’know, I was going to nickname the Bentley ‘Wild Wind’.”

“Well I’m glad to see the name didn’t stick,” Aziraphale said, rubbing a soft hand over the dashboard to ground himself, “What do you call it now anyway?”

“Oh, uh, just Bentley I guess. Or Car.” Or Old Girl but he would never tell Aziraphale he was that sentimental over her.

“Must be a demonic thing.” Aziraphale said offhandedly.

Crowley glanced over to him, “What is?”

‘_Sometimes I get so low, I just have to ride, let me take your hand, let me be your guide’_

“Uncreative names,” he said matter-of-factly, “Adam naming the hound ‘Dog’, you with your car, the name Adam, too. Not exactly an original thought! Even you dear, did you come up with Crawly? Only it really was too on the nose.”

Crowley looked at him with amused disbelief, “This is coming from the angel that took 6000 years to come up with ‘A Z Fell’ and you still haven’t decided what the initials stand for!”

“I hardly had reason to come up with something until they started the Magna Carta,” he bristled, “And I do know what they stand for. The A is Aziraphale and, well, the Z is just a Z, like your J.”

“Aziraphale Fell?” Crowley grimaced, “No offence, Angel, but I’m not a huge fan.”

“Yes, well, I’ve never had reason to say it all out loud before. You’re quite right, not really in good taste, is it?”

“Perhaps something less existential.”

“Oh, what about Antinous? He was a sweet boy.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Something more this century maybe?”

“I could always just use Anthony.”

“We can’t both be Anthony, Angel.”

“Oh! Crowley, that’s perfect! Angel Fell.”

“You want to go by Angel?” he said sceptically.

“Well, you do always call me that anyway, dear boy.”

“Yeah, but that’s... my thing,” he muttered trailing off, “Not all those humans with the whole ‘Mr Fell’ thing.”

“Oh. Well, how about... hmm, Angelo? Human enough? Yes, Angelo! And you can still call me Angel whenever you like.” 

Crowley was far too pleased at getting the monopoly on calling him Angel to do anything but agree. 


	2. Two: Body Language

They didn’t go back to Crowley’s flat too often, though it certainly wasn’t a rare occurrence as it once was; they both preferred to spend time at the bookshop, but Crowley couldn’t deny he was pleased with the sleek aesthetic he’d perfected in his own apartment.

As it was they’d had a rather lovely dinner at a new bistro downtown and, on the promise of a good glass of vintage red, they’d taken residence on Crowley’s unforgiving sofa that Aziraphale kept miracling cushions for and Crowley kept miracling away.

Now, however, the cushions were long forgotten as Crowley pushed Aziraphale back on the couch and claimed his lips, hands delighting in the plumpness of his hips. The Angel gave as good as he got, introducing tongue and burying one hand in Crowley’s hair while the other gripped his jacket at his back.

They had been quietly listening to music earlier in the evening, but where it had once been something classical – Crowley feeling generous after Aziraphale had been enduring much more bebop since they’d been going out in the Bentley more often – it was now a decidedly unclassical synth beat.

_‘Give me your body, give me your body, body, give me your body...’_

It did not go unnoticed by Aziraphale, “Crowley?”

“Mmm, Angel,” he said, continuing to kiss him.

_‘Don’t talk, don’t talk, don’t talk, don’t talk, baby don’t talk, body language...’_

“Dearest?” he tried again, torn between rather enjoying the feeling of his Demon’s lips on his skin, and wondering what on Earth was playing.

Crowley moved the kissed down to his neck, hands unbuttoning the soft velvet waistcoat.

_‘Give me your body, just give me, yeah, your body, give me, yeah your body...’_

“Crowley, stop,” he said, the annoyance winning out as Aziraphale pushed his hands away.

“Angel? You alright?” Crowley asked worriedly, all earnest eyes.

Aziraphale settled his head back on a newly miracled cushion, looking at him pointedly, “My dear, what the Hell is this song?”

“What?”

_‘Don’t talk, body language, huh huh, body language, body language...’_

“Oh. Oh!” Crowley smirked wide, “You don’t like it?”

“The beat is making me feel a bit nauseous,” Aziraphale complained, “Never mind the lyrics.”

“What? You don’t like a bit of _body language_?” he drew back completely now, much to Aziraphale’s protests, and, with an odd shaking of his shoulders to the rhythm, he slipped off his jacket.

“Crowley,” he said, fighting back a smile as he sat up on the edge of the sofa.

He stood, again moving his hips to the beat and slipping off his tie, swinging it around in a way he obviously meant to be enticing but was actually just plain cute, “’_You got red lips’_,” he sang, “_’Snakes in your eyes’_.”

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale breathed, holding back his laughter.

“_’Long legs’_,” he continued, putting his foot on the coffee table and gesturing to his own leg as if to show it off, then said with waggling eyebrows, “_’Great thighs’_”

Crowley turned around, bending over slightly so his – rather lovely, Aziraphale had to admit – behind was more prominent, “_’You got the cutest ass I’ve ever seen, knock me down for a six any time’_”

Aziraphale had covered his face with his hands now, peering out from his fingers as he muffled laughter into them.

Crowley was not deterred, “Come on, Angel, you not feeling it?” he grinned, “’_Look at me, I gotta case of body language’_”

Wiping his eyes, he took a breath and looked at Crowley again before dissolving into giggles, “You silly serpent, you!”

Crowley practically pounced at him, pushing him flat again and kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck, and then, moving his lips up to his Angel’s ear and his hands back to his waist, sang, “’_Yeah,” _a kiss, _“sexy body,” _another,_ “sexy, sexy body,” _a third, in between his own laughter, “_I want your body, baby you’re hot’_”

Aziraphale practically howled with laughter, clutching tight to his shoulders, his whole body shaking with it.

“Liked that, did you?” he said once they both settled a little, Crowley tucked into Aziraphale’s side.

“Oh yes, my dear boy,” he said, stroking Crowley’s hair, delirious with happiness, “Simply adorable.”

Crowley scowled even as Aziraphale felt him snuggle closer, “It wasn’t meant to be adorable! Was supposed to be sexy.”

“Of course, my darling,” Aziraphale placated, kissing his temple and humming along to where the music system had now gone back to playing Handel, “Even if that song is ridiculous.”


	3. Three: We Will Rock You

“This is positively vulgar, Crowley,” Aziraphale scowled at the Bentley’s CD player, currently spitting out a gaudy rock tune.

‘_Buddy you’re a young man, hard man, shouting in the street gonna take on the world someday..._’

Crowley turned to face him, “What?”

“Eyes on the road!” Aziraphale chided, grabbing onto the dashboard, “And the song, it’s very distasteful.”

‘_You got blood on your face, you big disgrace, waving your banner all over the place...’_

“How is ‘We Will Rock You’ distasteful?” he said, obligingly turning his eyes back to the front, “I’d argue it’s pretty unobjectionable as far as Queen songs go.”

“Really, as if I wouldn’t pick up on the connotations. You know, ‘hard man’, ‘mud on your face’, not to mention the whole ‘rock you’ aspect. As I said, positively vulgar,” he said primly.

Crowley just could not keep his eyes on the road, “You- you can’t be serious?” he laughed.

“I’m not an idiot Crowley, I know innuendo.”

“I know you do; don’t think I don’t know what naughty little books you read under the guise of classic literature,” he said, swerving to overtake a demonically slow driver, “But seriously, this is the one time I’m pretty sure there is no innuendo.”

“Now really, you can’t expect me to believe ‘waving your banner all over the place’ is not a vulgarity.”

“It really, really isn’t,” Crowley grinned, “Look at you with your mind in the gutter. It’s literally a song to get crowds to sing along at concerts.”

‘_You got mud on your face big disgrace, somebody better put you back into your place...’_

He shifted in his seat, “Well, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have sexual overtones.”

“I think that’s just you, Angel. Thinking about, what was it, ‘young men, hard men’?”

Aziraphale blushed, “I’d hardly call you young.”

Crowley choked and nearly ploughed right through a pedestrian at the traffic light.


	4. Four: Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

Crowley had been shooting odd looks his way for the past few minutes of their drive to the coast, but it wasn’t until Aziraphale heard the words ‘_dining at the Ritz’_ – the words almost like a hypnotic command to him – that he actually paid attention to the song originating from the Bentley’s speakers.

He looked to the CD player as if the CD slot was its mouth and couldn’t help but roll his eyes when it tossed out the words ‘_just take me back to yours that will be fine, come on and get it’_, “Oh, good lord.”

“Good, isn’t it?” Crowley said with a knowing smirk, though whatever Aziraphale was supposed to know was lost on him.

“I wouldn’t go that far, my dear.”

“Doesn’t it remind you of something? Someone perhaps?” Crowley said nonchalantly, then pressed the back button, drifting ever so slightly into the wrong lane as he did so and causing an oncoming car to honk furiously at him, “Here, listen again.”

Aziraphale frowned, turning to look at the retreating car and blessing them to a good day in apology, “Really, I think once was enough.”

“Nah, s’good song. ‘_I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things, we can do the tango just for two..._’” he sang.

Aziraphale listened to the demon singing, enjoying it only because he was trying so hard to do it well but failing quite terribly at it; it was very endearing. By the time they looped back around to the line about dining at the Ritz, Crowley had taken his hands off the wheel four times to hold Aziraphale’s own and serenade him with variations on ‘_love you, love you!_’ which were mostly charming if not for the immediate sense of peril Crowley’s driving gave him. That and the half-hearted glare he gave when Crowley sang ‘_come on and sit on my hot-seat of love’_ with far too much glee and a salacious wink.

After he had finished the song, he turned down the volume on whatever the Bentley had decided to play next, giving off an aura of incredible smugness.

“Well,” he said, “What do you think, angel?”

“I rather think that was more fun for you than it was for me.” Aziraphale said, straightening his cuffs where Crowley had tried to unfasten them just to be annoying.

“No, I mean the lyrics. Familiar?”

“My dear boy, I’m afraid I can’t say they are.”

“Well, they’re about me, aren’t they?” Crowley grinned, “The good old fashioned loverboy.”

“I quite think you’re projecting, darling.”

“No, really, it _is_ me,” he insisted, “Freddie wrote it especially for me.”

Aziraphale gave him a look, “You... went to the Ritz with Freddie Mercury? Freddie Mercury called you ‘loverboy’?”

“What? No! Well, yes actually, we did go to the Ritz once, but the rest is about you! Well, me and you.”

“Us? In what way is it about us?”

Crowley blushed ever so slightly, “Met him in a bar once, soon after the, er, whole 1967 thing. Got a bit drunk, got a bit chatty. Accidentally professed... things I felt about you. And hey presto a few years later he sent me it’s first recording.”

“Well, you mustn’t have said much about me.”

“Wha- I- what?”

“There’s scarcely one line about me! It’s all about how charming you are. And I daresay he hasn’t captured you very well; you’ve never been that articulate when it comes to romance.”

“I- yes I have! I can be very romantic!”

Aziraphale patted his thigh, “Yes, dear, but not so often with words,“ he paused, and then smiled cheekily, “_Loverboy_.”

“Shut up,” Crowley grumbled, shifting into first gear to mount the steep hill before them.

“Where did he get that from anyway? I can hardly see you describing yourself as such.”

“I don’t know, Angel, he embellished a lot of stuff. I don’t think I’ve ever asked you sit on my ‘hot seat of love’, either,” he gave Aziraphale a sidelong glance, “Not back then, anyway.”

Aziraphale, as usual, ignored his teasing, looking thoughtfully out of the windscreen, “You know, I don’t think the song is about me and you at all. I think it’s Freddie talking about you and himself.”

“What, you’re saying he was in love with me? Yeah right,” he said sarcastically.

“Maybe not love, darling, but you are rather desirable.”

“Yeah? You think?” he said, obviously pleased.

“Oh, of course, darling,” he smiled at him, “Positively irresistible, I assure you.”

“Same goes for you, angel,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale’s hand and holding it against the Angel’s thigh, “Though even if the song is about me and how great I am, I think it applies pretty well to us too.”

“If you’d like it too, dear, then of course it can be,” Aziraphale squeezed his hand, “Though I still can’t say I like it, much too modern for my tastes.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses, flicking the indicator down ready for the turn off, “Only you could think the 1970s is modern, angel.”


	5. Five: Don't Stop Me Now

‘_Tonight I’m gonna have myself a real good time, I feel ali-i-i-i-ive...’_

“Oh, Good Lord,” Aziraphale said, horrified at the sight of the masses converging to the dance floor.

Almost every wedding guest in attendance was joining in with the song, and not very well at that, some even miming the words in a facsimile of dance. Even the relatively level headed Anathema was dancing along in her bridal gown, picking up Newt and spinning him around as if she weren’t wearing six inch heels. 

_‘I’m a shooting star leaping through the sky, like a tiger defying the laws of gravity...’_

“Crowley, what have you done?” he despaired as Crowley returned to him from the bar.

“Me?” Crowley passed him a glass of wine, “I haven’t done anything, Angel.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you talking to that Dee and Jay before.”

“It’s just a DJ. And so what? I only requested a song,” he sipped at his cocktail innocently.

_‘I am a sex machine ready to reload, like an atom bomb about to oh-oh-oh-oh-oh explode..._’

“Yes, a song. This song. How do they_ all_ know the words? Look,” he said, pointing at a singing child, wine sloshing over the rim of his glass as he did so, “even that infant knows the lyrics, and he can’t be more than ten.”

_‘Don’t stop me now, I’m having such a good time, I’m having a ball...’_

“It’s just one of those catchy ones. Why, aren’t you _having a good time_?”

Aziraphale glared at him, “No, I’m not. Whatever happened to that lovely orchestral music they used to play at weddings and parties?”

“Tastes change, even if you don’t,” Crowley said, nudging him lightly with his elbow, “Besides, it’s the same principle, people dancing together, bonding. Thought you’d love this kind of thing.”

“Just because people bond over it doesn’t make it right,” he said, moving into the touch, “Plenty of people throughout time have bonded over the completely wrong things. Like those awful witch hunts in the middle ages. Or the French Revolution.”

“Aziraphale, you can’t seriously be comparing _Don’t Stop Me Now_ to the bloody revolution?”

“I daresay I had a happier time in the Bastille than I am currently,” Aziraphale pouted, “At least I had the hope of crepes getting me through back then. Now I just have the knowledge that after this evening of dreadful bebop, I’ll simply be forced to listen to more dreadful bebop on the drive home.”

“You’re more than welcome to walk home then, Angel,” Crowley grinned, circling around him.

Aziraphale craned his neck to watch him, “Hmm, is that so, my love?”

“Yup, I’ll drive away without you,” he stopped in front of the Angel, looming over him in a way that might have been menacing if not for the fond smile on his face.

“You and I both know you wouldn’t dare, dearest.”

They stared at each other for a long while, enough time that the dreadful song ended and instead was replaced by with a slightly, and Aziraphale did only mean slightly, more bearable tune.

“Fine,” Crowley grumbled at last, breaking their stand-off and dramatically crossing his arms, “You’re right, I wouldn’t.”

Aziraphale practically preened, “Oh, you darling thing.”

“Stop it.”

“My dear sweet boy.”

“Angel, I mean it.”

“My nice lovely demon.”

Crowley meant to growl menacingly to prove he was anything but nice, but it quickly fell off into a grunt as Aziraphale kissed him firmly on the lips.


	6. Six: Get Down Make Love

Normally Crowley would have point-blank refused to give anyone other than Aziraphale a lift in his precious, precious car. But unfortunately for him Aziraphale, who was seldom not by his side in such a circumstance, would offer a ride on his behalf to anyone he deemed in need with a bright and impossible to ignore smile.

It was how they had ended up giving Anathema a ride before the not-pocalypse, and it was how they had ended up giving the Them a ride home after Aziraphale had spotted them playing out in the woods after dark as they drove home from visiting Anathema.

And while the Bentley would normally not have enough seats for two preternatural entities and four children, with one snap of the fingers the backseat was suddenly the perfect size, and with another seatbelts perfectly in place for them.

_‘Get down make love, get down make love, get down make love...’_

As usual Queen was playing, but Crowley was too busy attempting to drive safely for the Them’s sake and Aziraphale too busy smiling brightly at them in the rear-view mirror to notice what exactly the song was.

_‘You say you’re hungry, I give you meat,_

_I suck your mind, you blow my head,_

_make love inside your bed...’_

It only took Crowley a second longer than Aziraphale to realise the words that had just sprung from the speakers. Unfortunately, it took the Them even less time.

“This song is weird,” Pepper declared, as Crowley hastily turned off the music.

“Aw, you didn’t have to turn it off,” Adam said with a frown, a mortified Aziraphale red to his ears, “I quite liked the beat.”

Brian rushed to agree, “Yeah, Mr Crowley,” he began to hum, feeling out the lyrics as he tried to remember them, “’_Get down, make gloves_’.”

“It wasn’t make gloves, Brian,” Wensleydale corrected, “It was like ‘_Get Dan, make love_’.”

“Children, please, “ Aziraphale tried, but they were too busy talking to notice him.

“Who’s Dan? Why are we getting him?” Brian asked.

“He needs him to make love,” Adam said, “Whatever that means.”

“Oh, look,” Aziraphale said louder, “A field of cows, how lovely.” It was ignored.

“Well I’m glad they turned it off,” Pepper said, “It was talking about eating meat, and you know that’s just wrong.”

“But I_ like_ bacon,” Wensleydale said with a pout.

Luckily enough they soon pulled up to the village and to Adam’s house, dropping all four of them there and waving goodbye with a strained smile.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said once they began back to London, eyes resolutely forward.

“Yes?” he replied, gripping the steering wheel tight.

“Can we agree never to play that song again?”

Even though Crowley knew that he truly had very little control over the Bentley, he nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s for the best, Angel.”


	7. Plus One: Seaside Rendezvous

Aziraphale often played something low on his gramophone in the evenings while he read or worked on fixing bindings, usually some Handel or Beethoven or he might even dabble in some 1920s crooning if he was feeling modern, and while Crowley had long since left the classical classics behind, he supposed he couldn’t begrudge the Angel his own tastes when he subjected him to his ‘bebop’ on the regular.

Which is why, on entry into the bookshop, Crowley almost dropped his generous gift of Chateaux Petrus at the jaunty tune overlaid with the very familiar vocals of Freddie Mercury that was ringing out through the store. Aziraphale had discarded his coat and was actually tapping his foot along with the tune and, no way, he was _singing_. It was the quiet mumbled singing of someone absently recounting familiar lyrics, but the sound of the Angel’s soft voice singing out was unmistakeable, “’_Seaside rendezvous, so adorable, seaside rendezvous, ooh hoo! Seaside rendezvous, kiss me!’”_

Then, before the song petered off into a more expected tune, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the song started again, completely unaware of Crowley in the open doorway as he sat merrily at his desk. 

He quietly closed the door behind him, and then leaned against a sturdy shelf of first edition Penny Dreadfuls as he watched the Angel studying the repairs of whatever book he was working on, coco cooling at his side. Aziraphale didn’t sing every line audibly but said those he seemed to enjoy with more gusto, crying out “_I love you madly, let my imagination run away with you gladly!”_ with particular passion, and even going as far as to fill the instrumental parts with a tune of ‘do do doo’, enthused humming and the most adorable bobbing of his head. 

Crowley let him sing out the last few lines again, enjoying hearing Aziraphale say ‘_kiss me’_ with such glee, before he raised his hand and clicked his fingers. Aziraphale didn’t even realise at first that the music had stopped until he, used to the rhythm of the tune, had opened his mouth to sing along again.

The angel turned to the gramophone in curiosity but flushed red as soon as he caught sight of Crowley with eyebrow raised in the doorway, “Crowley! How long have you been there my dear boy?” he said with red cheeks.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you listening to Queen, Angel,” he said, stalking forward, setting down the wine on a low shelf on the way, “Seaside Rendezvous? How positively sinful.”

“Oh hush, your car must have started to affect my shop is all.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you know all the words and started the track over when I came in? And not to mention the dancing.” Crowley smirked, winking at him over the top of his glasses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, angel’s don’t dance,” Aziraphale said, rearranging things needlessly on his desk in a fluster.

“Big singers though, up there. Celestial harmonies. Though can’t imagine any of them have ever sang ‘_get a new facial, start a sensation__’_...”

“Oh, you fiend, you’re like a dog with a bone,” he grumbled, “Fine, yes, perhaps I like one of your bebop songs,” then he turned back to Crowley and slotted himself in his arms, “I thought, perhaps, we could have a little seaside rendezvous of our own?”

“Yeah?” Crowley said fondly, holding him close.

“Yes, I thought we could rent a nice little cottage somewhere by the sea and make a time of it.”

“Anything you want, Angel,” Crowley said with a smile, “We could even buy a place, if you like. A little home away from London.”

“Oh, darling. Yes!” Aziraphale positively beamed, kissing him soundly, then bustling away at his desk again, “I was already looking at places for the holiday, my dear, but, oh, to live, even for a while! Tell me what you think of the South Downs, my love.”  


  



	8. Outake: Love of My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love of My Life does not lend itself to a light-hearted scene! So here is an outtake which I didn’t feel flowed right with the rest of the fic, but would be one of the first songs featured if it was.

“Have I done something to upset you, dearest?” Aziraphale said, fiddling with his hands.

Crowley was only half focused on him, stuck trying to work out which exit to take on this blasted roundabout because Aziraphale had wanted to take a visited to Cornwall after reading one too many Daphne Du Maurier novels and Crowley had no idea where he was going. Never mind the M25, the person who invented the roundabout really deserved a demonic commendation.

“Hmm, what? No, s’alright,” he said absently.

‘_Love of my life, don’t leave me, you’ve taken my love you now desert me’_

“We don’t have to go to Cornwall, we can go somewhere else instead, if you like?” the Angel said quietly.

Crowley, having – hopefully – taken the right exit, faced Aziraphale now, and was taken aback at how sad he looked, “Angel? You alright?”

He looked up at him with a watery smile, “If I’ve done something you would tell me, wouldn’t you darling?”

“Done something? What would you have done?”

‘_Love of my life can’t you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me_’

Instead of answering Aziraphale burst into tears.

“Shhh, Angel, it’s alright,” Crowley said panicked, putting an arm around him and pulling him close as he parked in the next layby, “Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

He let the Angel sniffle into his coat, soothing a hand down his back and words into his neck.

‘_When I grow older, I will be there at your side to remind you how I still love you, I still love you’_

When his crying stopped, Crowley still held him around his plump waist and spoke to him softly, “What’s wrong, Angel?”

“The song,” he sniffed.

“Wha- I know it’s a sad one, but I didn’t think it was anything to cry over.”

“Oh, but my love, it is. What have I done that has hurt you so?”

“Hurt me? Angel, no, I didn’t write the song, you daft thing.”

“I know that, Crowley, but don’t think I don’t know your car is attuned to you.”

“Attuned to me?”

“Yes, playing happy songs when you’re happy, sad songs when you’re sad. I can only imagine I’ve done something quite terrible to have it play something to morose.”

“What? No, no that’s not... how did you come to that conclusion?” Crowley said, “It’s just a song, Angel, it’s on random.”

“Well, it was always the same, my dear boy, I was quite sure of it.”

Crowley pecked him on the cheek, “As interesting as it would be to have the Bentley as a musical mood ring, it’s just coincidence, sweetheart.”

“Hmph, well, I can’t say I’m very fond of this song either way,” Aziraphale said, miracling away the tear stained he’d left on Crowley’s jacket.

“Well that’s not a surprise, Angel, I’ve yet to find a song I own that you do like,” he said, “What did you even think you’d done, anyway? The worst thing you’ve done is probably that time you rested your cocoa on my laptop.”

“Oh you were so upset then, my dear.”

“Believe me, I hammed it up a bit for the foot massage.”

Aziraphale laughed, still a bit dewy eyed, “You wily serpent you.”

“So, what was it? Something I should know about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Me reading all night again and not coming to bed until early morning. Or practically forcing you to drive me to Cornwall. Or complaining about your driving for the first hour when you’d been so good to take me in the first place.”

“As if any of that could make me upset with you. It’s hardly a secret you read, Angel, and you made it up to me then and there if you remember,” he said, smiling at Aziraphale’s pleased blush, “I’d drive you anywhere, I’ve told you that before, and I’d be more worried if you didn’t complain about my driving the whole way.”

“I have been quite silly, haven’t I?” he said, giving Crowley a chaste kiss before righting himself in his seat.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it by now,” Crowley said with a grin, restarting the engine and getting them back on the road.

Aziraphale pouted at him, “And you called me the bastard.”

“Oh, you are,” he laughed, “I haven’t taken the title from you.”


End file.
